For Only You (Teenlock!/Johnlock)

Chapter 23: The Fall of a Holmes

John's P.O.V

"You're lying," Sherlock croaked, clearly disbelieving of his brother's words, the remorse echoing in his deep voice. There was no chance that Molly was missing, in his eyes; it was more than obvious that Sherlock believed that our friend was in danger.

It was horrible, really, the way that Sherlock had to learn of things this way, after waking up in hospital bed with bandages on his back, attached to a morphine drip. And, despite Molly's constant crush on Sherlock, she had always been lovely to us, being kind and wishing us well within our relationship.

And now she was gone.

Shuffling evermore closer to Sherlock, I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands pressed into Sherlock's colder, more slender ones. When he pulled said hands away, I winced, grimacing at the way he rejected me, the way it such a small action seemed to hurt so much.

"Sher..."

"Don't 'Sher' me," he spat, no hint of regret in his voice, "just get out."

I heard Mycroft stand up behind me, clearing his throat in that too-loud way, and tutting slightly, "This isn't John's fault, don't push him away," he grumbled, something else hiding behind his voice, lurking in the words he didn't say, with his hands resting on the edge of the metal frame of the bed. "You need to ca-"

"Don't tell me to calm down! I am fine. Just leave me alone," Sherlock retorted even more harshly than before, making both Mycroft and I feel more than a little rejected.

Neither of us said a word, an awkward silence hanging in the air, seeping into the tension in the room until it felt as though we would start to suffocate if it carried on. I was more than a little shocked to see Mycroft stand up and leave, taking his umbrella with him.

I didn't leave, I, of course, stayed. Sat on precariously on the edge of the plush material, my hands resting limply in my lap. It didn't matter that Sherlock tried to push me away in his moment of grief, because we both knew that I wouldn't leave, not unless it was clear that it was what he truly needed in order to feel better. I would never abandon Sherlock.

Apparently, my absence was the only thing that my genius required of me.

"John, when I said leave, I implicitly implied that you use your legs to guide you out of the door and away from me. I know you're an idiot, but I'm sure that you at least can figure out such a basic request... Go. Leave me."

I sighed softly, leaning to press a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, ending up with my lips in his hair when he twisted his head to the side to avoid me. It hurt, rather a lot, but I knew that Sherlock didn't truly mean it; it just felt painful to hear the words that he could one day be saying to push me away for good. Nevertheless, I stood with a quiet efficiency, making my way over to the door, offering Sherlock an empathetic smile, before promptly leaving the tense room, unsurprised to see Mycroft waiting for me right outside.

"Do not take his words to heart... fear for a loved one can do powerful things to a man, even if he is unwilling to admit it," he advised me in his detached tones, before beginning to walk away, a vague wave of his hand gesturing that my presence was to be found in his company.

"It has been a long while since something like this has effected Sherlock so directly," he began, pausing as he looked down at me, almost as though he was assessing whether or not he should carry on with what appeared to be a small speech of explanation. With a nod, he directed his gaze back towards the corridor that we were strolling down. "... The last time, someone Sherlock held close died. As a result, he changed, we both did. It still effects us today, even after almost ten years, and I hate to admit that I hold the blame for what happened to Sherrinford."